


Chasing Promises

by abovethesmokestacks



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Drabble Series, F/M, Hades & Persephone, Myth Retelling, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-03
Updated: 2017-01-07
Packaged: 2018-09-14 11:51:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9180313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abovethesmokestacks/pseuds/abovethesmokestacks
Summary: After the fall of SHIELD and the visit to the museum, he goes back to base only as an afterthought. There is something, someone, there and in the muddled mess that is his mind, he knows it would be crueler to leave you behind.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Judgement](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Judgement/gifts).



> This came in a request by a friend for a follower milestone drabble request thing I did on tumblr. She asked for a Hades/Persephone-styled Bucky/Reader-fic, and me being the myth nerd that I am, I couldn't keep it to just one drabble, it kinda got away from me and became a drabble series. The series is all written out, and I will post one chapter a day.

_one_

After the fall of SHIELD and the visit to the museum, he goes back to base only as an afterthought. There is something, _someone_ , there and in the muddled mess that is his mind, he knows it would be crueler to leave you behind. You’re… a fail safe. A last resort, a person reduced to a thing to be used should he ever get unruly. It has never happened, but you’ve been with him wherever they have moved him for the last year. He knows of you because they paraded you in front of him once, explained your function, talked about you as if you weren’t there, as if you weren’t human. Just like he wasn’t. In HYDRA’s eyes, you were probably a perfect match. To him you were supposed to be a tool for him to live out any type of carnal, violent desires that could possibly arise and cause trouble; to you he was a way for HYDRA to keep you cowed, keep you scared, your own personal boogeyman

He still doesn’t feel much, but when he approaches the small cell they keep you in, he is infinitely thankful he never lost control, never had to overstep a boundary that apparently couldn’t be brainwashed away. You don’t mistreat a lady.

The door rips open with a violent, jarring clamor, and you’re quick, almost impossibly so as you fling yourself to a corner. You shudder at the sight of him, a small whimper escaping you. He must look a mess, shoulder still dislocated, bloodied and filthy from the fight.

 _“Please, come with me. It’s not safe here. We need to run,”_ he pleads, the language feeling thick and unfamiliar in his mouth. 

He holds out his hand, careful that it’s his right, and it’s nothing short of a miracle when you stumble to him, breath hitching and eyes pleading. You don’t take his hand, but you approach him, following him when he backs away, leading you out of the building. There must be something in his eyes that convinced you, because he can’t think of any other reason why you’d follow the man you’ve been threatened with. He knows he wouldn’t.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crossposted from my tumblr.

_two_

The two of you knit together like his torn muscles knit back together once he reset his shoulder all those months ago. For a few weeks you circle each other, both wary of the other. Freedom is strange. It aches in his bones and causes a worry in the mind when he is allowed a bed and sleep each night instead of the cold bite of cryo. You keep your distance to start, he never assumed you wouldn’t. In truth, he keeps expecting to wake up to you gone, yet every morning he is greeted by your quiet steps in the kitchen, the sizzling of eggs in the pan, and whatever fear has plagued him during the night settles for the day.

He takes to using his old name, it feels easier to interact with a name instead of a title. It rolls off his tongue like it never even left, a soft yet strong name that makes memories bubble under the surface. You offer him your first smile at this backwards introduction, giving him your own name in kind, and it’s like a treasure, a promise of a sense of normalcy in a situation far from it. There is nothing about this that screams of ordinary, nothing domestic about bouncing around abandoned apartments, splicing electricity, piecing together his life in notebooks and watching for the true boogeymen.

And that’s the thing about boogeymen. They don’t give up so easily. Four months in, and they come close, too close for comfort, and Bucky’s heart is in his chest. He hastily arranges for an escape, manages to smuggle them aboard a freighter set for Europe. It’s not luxurious, it’s dark and at times claustrophobic, he lives in fear that the cargo inspections will be their downfall.

In all this, you take to him, deciding that this rescue will be two-way.

_“Where are we headed?”_ you ask one night, seated to his left.

_“Paris.”_

Your giggles echo through the dark container, a sound so full of life he wishes he could see your face.

_“I always wanted to go to Paris.”_

You giggle again, humming a melody that eventually turns into a song praising the city in question. By the end, you let out a dramatic sigh, followed by a low whisper of _“together in Paris”_ that he’s not quite sure what to make of. There will be no time to take in the sights, but in that container, hidden behind a wall of crates with you by his side, he feels like maybe one day, he could.


	3. three

_three_

Touching is… complicated. There are situations where it’s unavoidable, where your lives depend on being close, and neither one of you think about it too much. You don’t look like you mind it as it happens, but beyond those moments… you don’t. You always repel like equally charged magnets when the danger is over, drifting apart without fuss, always keeping space between the two of you whenever the situation allows for it. You wrap your arms around yourself, maybe in an effort to make up for the lack of touch, creating your own kind of safety. Bucky respects your choice, doesn’t press, doesn’t want to press.

It’s not as if he has a lot of positive experience. There probably was a time when his touch didn’t mean death, when he knew how to touch with kindness, maybe even with love, but it’s all buried under frayed memories of forced cryo sleep, harsh bites of batons and fists and the electric crackling of the chair that has carved out blinding spaces in his head. You probably know how to touch, never having had to forget, but to some extent, Bucky is still the man you were told could come for you at any moment. It is understandable.

It also makes for an awkward situation when you’re once again on the move, a long train ride through Germany, and you’re still asleep by the time you approach your final destination. He’s tried gently calling your name, but you’re dead to the world, knees tucked up against your chest. It paints a sweet, serene image; your curled-up body expanding and contracting with every breath. Touch is still required, but where?

The train has rolled into the station by the time Bucky makes up his mind, gently poking your left shoulder, surprised by how warm you feel under his fingertips. You start awake, eyes wild before they settle on him, the panic gone as soon as it turned up.

_“We’re here,”_ he informs you, giving you a small smile and pulling back his hand, adding as an afterthought, _“Sorry.”_

The look you give him makes his insides hum in a foreign-but-familiar feeling, it is soft and forgiving and what is his heart doing?

_“It’s okay,”_ you tell him, suppressing a yawn.  _“Thank you.”_

He can’t remember the last time he heard those two words, can’t decide how to respond. Insufficient data. In his brief lapse of attention, the moment passes, and people bustle past you to get off the train. You pick up your lives, stowed away in a few bags, following the stream of people to once again disappear.


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys, I was trapped in a car heading home all day today, so you're getting chapter 4 and 5 back to back!

_four_

There are pros and cons to hiding in big cities.

Pros: so many people, so many souls to hide among. There is always a wrong side of town, districts where empty, abandoned apartments are easy to find, easy to proof, easy to leave behind. His body knows how to make the electricity work, knows what needs to be done to make it safe for you. It’s funny how that has become the most important part.

Cons: Big cities mean constant vigilance, because HYDRA’s reach is far, and Bucky knows they have outposts everywhere. He’s left behind his tac suit, he’s bulked up a bit since leaving, a scruff peppering his face. There is softness in his eyes, less tension in his mouth. It’s by no means a perfect disguise, nor is the cap he keeps pulled low over his brow, but it’s a start.

You have changed, too. Less wary, less guarded when it’s just the two of you. Smiles, more humming, tentative casual touches, a streak of adventurousness in the way you pull him along to markets for fresh fruit. It’s a whole new world of sweet apples, juicy plums and tart pomegranate. Picking out fruits for the day is like a little blessing, seeing you light up at the selection, weigh the fruits and squeeze them to check their ripeness.

It’s your first night in Bucharest, sitting on a bench in Parcul Herâstrâu while the sunset is mirrored in the lake next to you. You’re laughing, and Bucky can’t seem to remember what about because his eyes are focused on your lips, painted beautifully red by the pomegranate you’re feasting on, popping seeds into your mouth, savouring the crunch and the sweet-sour tang. His body rebels, wishing he could kiss the lingering juice away, taste you and be _closecloseclose_.

This has become your life, and he wishes he had the courage to ask if he could touch you beyond the hand holding and occasional nudge to rouse you from sleep. Bucky longs for embraces, for connection, for kisses that taste of pomegranate. There is another question that weighs heavy on his mind, one he is too afraid to ask, fearing your answer. _Not yet._  He bites down on an apple, letting the zesty taste carry him back to the present.

He knows he shouldn’t, but he wishes this can go on forever, that you will stay with him, that he could be the man to promise you safety and sanctuary. Maybe that’s why fate decides this is the last stop on your journey.


	5. five

_five_

He comes at you with a fervor that immediately sets you on edge, the tension in his muscles back after months of slowly bleeding out of him. Bucharest has been good to the two of you, allowing you to relax, to grow, to become accustomed. The apartment is small, windows covered with newspapers, one mattress that you sleep on back to back, the proximity and point of contact no longer awkward. You sent Bucky to the market for plums, not wanting to tear yourself from the little bookstore you found. The man behind the desk smiled knowingly at you, and you blushed. It’s not like that.

Right?

Right?

_Right?_

You honestly don’t know anymore. For so long, you lived in fear of the man he was, the things they said he could, would, do to you. Then he came back for you, pulled you out of captivity. You’ve asked yourself often why you followed him, and every time he’s spliced electricity to keep you warm, moved you when HYDRA has come to close, smiled as you’ve thrust a piece of fruit into his hand, it’s affirmation enough. Not a monster, a good man.

And yet.

He comes running at you, and for a moment you’re back with HYDRA, you’re seeing him for the first time, and your insides turn to frost. Something’s wrong.

_“Bucky?”  
_

_“You need to leave.”  
_

_“What?”  
_

_“I- I don’t know how. They will come for me. You can be safe, but you need to leave, now.”  
_

_“How-?”_

He pulls out a thick envelope from his jacket and pushes it into your hands. You don’t need to open it to know what it is, you’re just surprised he’s been walking around with it.

_“Go home. Go anywhere, anywhere that’s away from me. You need to be safe.”  
_

_“I… I don’t want to.”_

You’re surprised to hear the words come out of your mouth, maybe even more surprised than Bucky is at hearing them. This life you two have created, flawed and fractured as it may be, is better than anything you could create for yourself. There was a reason HYDRA took you; no real family to miss you, no community or wide circle of friends to worry about. You were sheltered and displaced at the same time, and this strange little life has everything you once didn’t.

_“Have you been happy with me?”_

The question comes out of nowhere, stuns you momentarily, but you still nod mutely, watching his expression contort into a strange mix of despair and calm.

_“Then, please, go,”_ Bucky pleads, cupping your cheeks in a rare display of affection. _“I need you to be safe. You need to go. I will come back for you, I will find you, I promise.”_

He enunciates the last two words, hammering in their importance. It’s only temporary. You press a kiss to his cheek, and he takes off, back down the street and you feel like something is ripped from you.

It might have been your heart.


	6. six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it. The end of the road. Six chapters, one for each month Persephone stays with Hades, one for each phase in Bucky and reader's story. Thank you, thank you, thank you for indulging me in this.

_six_

Time is a bitch. Time is eternal. Time drags on, every day a pain to get through.

Life without Bucky is… unsatisfying, unnerving. You followed the events in Leipzig and beyond as you slowly worked your way back home. It was hard to find info about what really happened after the fight in Leipzig. Sources talk of an additional scuffle in Siberia, but the credibility is questionable at best. Captain America is missing, Bucky is missing, the Avengers are in shambles. The only thing keeping you going is the fact that if something truly bad had happened to Bucky, the newspapers would be all over it. Imprisonment? First page news. Demise? First page news. They thrive on misfortune, and Bucky is nothing if not a victim of it.

It’s spring when you return, but you hardly notice, like you are not noticed. Sun warms your skin, but never quite manages to feel as warm as the heat radiating from Bucky during the last nights in Romania. You’re back where you started, back in your hometown, and it’s as if you never left. Those who knew you barely even reflect when they realize you’ve been absent, readily accept your explanation of having done some travelling. It grates on your nerves, the flippancy so unfamiliar.

Summer comes, and you stay inside, create a little makeshift kingdom for yourself with bits and pieces of your journey; a mattress on the floor, notebooks that remain unused, pomegranate seeds staining your lips red. Of course you’re afraid. They found you once, what’s stopping them from finding you again? Worry gnaws at you, every sudden sound sending you into a tizzy. You push your mattress up against a wall, sleep with your back pressed up against it, but it does little to make up for the man you miss.

The first chill of fall is in the air when you notice a shadow following you on your way home, a man in a cap and dark tinted glasses. If they want you, if they’ve found you, does that mean they have Bucky, too? You hate the way you feel yourself resigning to the idea of recapture, but if it brings him back to you, maybe it could be worth it?

_“Ma’am?”_

The man almost seems surprised when you calmly approach him, ready to surrender.

_“You’re following me. I think we both know why.”_

It’s not quite relief that colours his expression, but something close to it. He’s carrying a small paper bag, handing it to you.

_“He said you’d understand.”_

Peeking inside, you can feel your stomach flip, your pulse speeding. Four plums and the ripest pomegranate you’ve ever seen. _Bucky._

 _“Where is he?”_ you demand, clutching the bag to your chest. _“What have you done to him.”_

 _“We’re not HYDRA,”_ he assures you, taking off the sunglasses. He is familiar, but it will take you another hour to realize who he is. _“Barnes is safe, he asked us to find you. Like he promised.”_

You don’t need to think twice about your decision. It takes you fifteen minutes to pack, another fifteen to make the necessary calls to tie up your life while your new acquaintance drives you off to the monstrosity of a plane that will take you to Bucky. It was never a life you led here, not quite.

When you finally see him again, it’s enough to bring you to your knees. He’s been hidden well, him and his friends, but the sight of him in the cryo unit echoes like a bad dream. For a second you think you’ve been duped, that this is a trap and he’s been tossed back into his worst nightmare. You’re inconsolable, scratching at the glass surface that holds him suspended between life and death, your heart breaking even more when you notice his left arm, reduced to a stump. You have to be pulled away, a cup of strong aromatic tea coaxed into you before you can calm down enough to hear them explain.

He did it of his own free will, until they could figure out a way to disable the programming. They’re close, they promise, and he will be thrilled to see you’ve returned when they can wake him up to start treatments.

It’s another month before it happens, and you haven’t left his side. Maybe it’s not back to back but it’s a mattress close to him, and the knowledge that you will wake up and he will be there. Yours is the first face he sees, eyes brimming with tears and lips smeared with pomegranate juice as you pull your lips into a shaky smile.

 _“You’re back,”_ he rasps, his voice hoarse from the frozen sleep.

 _“So are you,”_ you whisper, caressing his cheek and shuddering at the lingering chill.

_“I told you, I’d be back for you.”_

You launch yourself at him, nearly toppling him as you latch onto him, molding your body to his. His right arm comes up to snake around your waist, pressing you to him. It’s been too long. His white shirt stains from the juice on your lips, and you furrow your brow when you look up at him. So pale, lips several shades lighter than the beautiful pink they should be. Without hesitation you bring your lips to his, brushing against him, staining his lips with what remains, marking him as yours as much as he has claimed you for his.

 _“Please, don’t leave me again,”_ you murmur against his lips when you break away for air.

_“Not if I can help it. I promise.”_


End file.
